Almost Lover
by likesuperwhee
Summary: Kurt is sick of Blaine coming home in the middle of the night drunk out of his mind. Angsty one-shot, Blaine/Santana friendship, about 1,300 words.


****Title: Almost Lover  
>Pairing: BlaineSantana friendship.  
>Word Count: ~1300<br>Rating: PG-13  
>Spoilers: None<br>Warnings: Klaine break-up, angst like woah, some language.****

**A/N: The line break in the middle is a flashback. This will not have a sequel. Title comes from the song Almost Lover by A Fine Frenzy.**

"I can't do this anymore."

Those are the words that echo in his head long after the door has slammed shut and Kurt is walking far, far away. He's still standing in the kitchen, frozen in place, unable to move. He can't process it. Kurt can't be gone.

But he is.

And suddenly, Blaine is broken on the ground, curled in on himself, wishing, praying, begging for it all to be a dream. But it's not a dream. Life keeps on going, and Blaine doesn't know how long he's on the floor but it doesn't matter because _Kurt is gone, Kurt is gone, Kurt is gone._

And after god knows how many hours, the front door clicks open and Blaine's head shoots up.

"Kurt?"

He's hoping, with everything he has, to hear the man's beautiful voice just once more, for it to be Kurt, just Kurt, realising that Blaine can't live without Kurt and-

"It's me, Blaine."

Blaine's head slumps back onto the cool tile floor, and he sobs brokenly, just once, because everything in him is just shattering all over again, the pain doubled, tripled, by the hope he dared to have. Santana's light footsteps come towards him then, and Blaine doesn't even care what she's thinking of him, how he must look right now, because nothing matters if it isn't Kurt.

She crouches next to him, and puts her arms around him, like she can hold all the pieces of him together. She can't.

They sit like that for a while, Blaine curled motionless on the floor with her wrapped around him, until Santana simply says, "Blaine."

Suddenly, he's gasping for breath, grabbing at her shoulders, shuddering, pressing his face into her neck and he's soaking the front of her shirt with tears but he still doesn't care, and she's making little shushing noises and rocking him ever so slightly like he's a baby.

"He's gone, he's gone, he's gone," he cries over and over, and she's still rocking him, she's still trying to hold him together, and they're still sitting on the floor in the middle of the kitchen in the middle of their tiny studio apartment. No, not theirs, Blaine doesn't even know whose apartment it is because _he's gone, he's gone, he's gone._

Eventually Santana drags him up onto his feet and over to the couch, because he can't face the bedroom which is bathed in Kurt's smell, not just yet. He collapses into the cushions, and Santana crawls in next to him, and they fall asleep like that, Blaine facing the back of the couch with Santana's arms around him. He still cries, even in his dreams.

The next morning he wakes up with arms around him, and for a moment he is completely blissed out, relaxing into the grip and savouring the feeling of being in Kurt's arms like he does every morning when he wakes up first.

But then he takes a deep breath in, and freezes. This is all wrong; this isn't what Kurt smells like. Kurt smells like sunny days and rainy days and snow all at once, this smell is flowery and girly and thick, and there are long strands of hair tickling Blaine's nose. He twists around, trying to escape from this stranger's grip, but just ends up tangling his feet in the comforter on top of him and falling onto his side on the floor.

_"Motherfucker!"_

Right. The other body hitting the floor next to Blaine is Santana.

"Oh god, San, I'm sorry, I didn't rea-" Blaine cuts off abruptly. He had slept on the couch with Santana. Because Santana had come over last night. Because of Kurt.

Because Kurt was gone.

Blaine flops onto his back, rubbing his eyes roughly with the heels of his palms.

"Fuck," he mumbles.

"Blaine-"

"No, San. Just… get out."

"What?"

Blaine sits up again. "What the hell do you think I said? _Get out._"

"No Blaine, you're not thinking straight, you just wo-"

"GET _OUT_!" he screams, and then Santana is up, grabbing her purse from where she presumably left it last night by the door, and oh _god_ last night. She slams the door.

Blaine slumps forward, and rests his cheek against the cool wood floor. His head is pounding.

* * *

><p>Blaine is stumbling down the streets toward him and Kurt's shitty little apartment, giggling at some long forgotten joke. His phone starts vibrating, and he looks in his pocket and fumbles for it for a moment before unlocking it and yanking it up to his ear.<p>

"Blaine whe-" but suddenly the crackling voice on the other line cuts off and Blaine stares at his phone, confused. He presses random buttons, but nothing happens. Blaine just stands there until he eventually realises the phone has run out of battery.

"Ooops," he slurs, laughing, and continues making his way back home.

However many minutes later, Blaine sags against their front door. He fumbles with the keys for a bit, until the door is yanked open from the inside, causing Blaine to trip into a tall mass.

"Mmm, warm," Blaine snuggles against Kurt, giggling.

"Blaine, get off. Get _off._" he's confused now. Why is Kurt mad?

"Baby, why're you maaad?" Blaine moans, elongating the last word in a sing-song voice.

"Why am I _mad?_" and uh oh, that's Kurt's 'are you fucking with me you jackass' tone of voice. "Oh, well maybe because I had _no idea_ where you were? I didn't know whether you were lying_ dead_ in a _ditch_ somewhere or _fucking_ some other guy? Maybe because I tried to call you, but you hung up on me? Maybe because this is the fifth time this has happened in the last_two weeks?_"

Kurt's really getting worked up.

"No, baby, I-"

"I don't want to hear it, Blaine. Do you even know what the _time_ is?"

"But I-"

It is _5'o clock in the morning, Blaine!" _Kurt is screeching, now. "It's _5AM_ and I was _so worried_ and I was calling _everyone_and _nobody_ knew where you were, and then you just come waltzing in like nothing's wrong with the world and I just- ugh!" Kurt makes a high noise of frustration.

"Kurt, my phon-"

"No Blaine. No. I- I can't do this anymore"

And then Kurt walks out, slamming the door, and Blaine is standing in the kitchen, and he's so not drunk, not anymore.

* * *

><p>He was so stupid. <em>So<em> stupid. Blaine looks up, searching for his phone. He feels it in his pocket and takes it out before remembering it's out of battery.

"Oh _god,_" he moans into the empty apartment. "_Shit."_

10 minutes later, the phone is charged enough for the call he needs to make.

He opens his phone and his heart gives a painful squeeze at the background, a picture of Kurt in Times Square, laughing his head off at some stupid pun Blaine had made.

But Blaine needs to make this call. He taps the number on the phone, and holds it to his ear, hoping, hoping.

"Hello, this is Kurt, please leave a message with your details and I'll get back to you as soon as possible!"

"Kurt," Blaine's voice cracks. He clears his throat. "Kurt. I am _so fucking sorry_. I love you _so much_, Kurt. I can't live without you. Please don't make me live without you. Please Kurt, I'll stop drinking, stop going out, whatever it takes, just please don't leave me. Please." His voice is thick with unshed tears by the time he hits the 'end call' button, but he doesn't even care. He just sags on the floor against the couch leg, closes his eyes, and lets the tears fall.


End file.
